Notre fils
by Eskarina
Summary: Continues directly on from where the musical ends. Examines what life will be like now, after Christine, for all three of the men she has left behind.
1. Chapter 1

Hi, this is my first PotO fic, based on the musical productions with some slight Susan Kay influences; I am aware that Love Never dies isn't exactly 'liked' among the fandom, believe me, I don't like it much myself, I've been a fan of the original production and indeed the original story for a long time and the sequel annoys me as much as the next person.

That said, I did want to write something continuing on from where it ends, I think the situation of Erik suddenly becoming a father is worth exploring. If I get a lot of people just complaining that I'm using Love never dies as a jumping-off point then I'll take this down right away. All I ask is that you give it a fair chance.

If anyone wants to have a discussion about characterisation or anything I may be slightly off on then feel free to message me.

All characters belong to their original creators.

**Chapter One**

The boy had wept himself into sleep, they'd both attempted to comfort him but both had failed, it was to be expected, neither man was in a much better state himself. The boy refused to go to his room despite their cajoling and so had been tucked onto the sofa of the hotel room.

Erik leant over the boy, tucking his cloak over the tear-stained face of his son. God, how beautiful he was, so perfect, how _lucky_ to have somehow avoided inheriting his malformed face. The Phantom leant a little closer and kissed his poor grief-exhausted son's forehead.

"Is he sleeping?"

Erik glanced over one shoulder, an expression of slight disgust painting his features. Raoul was at the dining table, his head resting heavily in one hand. A picture of the mourning husband, Erik thought bitterly.

Erik had to give him credit for his actions though. He hated the vicomte, yes, but at least when Gustave had run to him in tears over the revelation that this frightening and imposing Phantom was his true father and witnessing his mother's death in a matter of seconds…

Raoul had brought the child back. Erik would never understand that, though he fully intended to question it later. Raoul had gathered the boy in his arms and brought him back to where Christine lay, to where the Phantom clasped her poor, lifeless shape to his chest in one last embrace of love.

'_Yes, he's your real father.'_ That's what the French nobleman had said, when the boy twisted and turned between the two men with an expression of confusion. When the shock began to ease enough for him to speak.

Then… then this beautiful, remarkable boy, as Raoul had turned to leave to get back to the boat that was leaving that night, Gustave had begun to weep more furiously and begged him not to leave, _'Don't leave me, don't either of you leave me too!'_

He was hysterical, of course, but neither man knew what to do to stop those frightening cries coming from the child, they had no clue how to help him to simply breathe again. They hadn't _known_ how to stop the child's weeping, his endless shrieking cries until Erik had whispered that they would both stay with him. That had settled Gustave enough for him to collapse in grief-stricken sobs on Erik's shoulder.

Raoul had carried the boy back. Erik took the far heavier burden of the woman they had both loved. She was laid in state in the hotel bedroom, Erik had wanted better for her but for now this would have to suffice. Tomorrow, he would begin funeral arrangements; tomorrow he would find Meg Giry and deal with her, tomorrow he would begin to sort this terrible mess of a night out.

"He sleeps." Erik replied to the vicomte's earlier question.

Raoul might have nodded, it was hard to tell. He kept his head in his hand, until he heard the faint clink of ice in a glass. His head lifted then, veteran alcoholic that he fully admitted he was. It was in time to see the Phantom place a glass of cool whiskey on the table before him, another in the imposing man's hand.

When the vicomte only stared, fish-eyed at the glass Erik sighed, frustrated, growled lowly, "Come now boy, you won't tell me now you don't drink."

They both threw back the alcohol in quick gulps, the burn of it doing something to bring horrible reality into sharp focus.

"What's to be done with him now?" Raoul asked, nodding to where Gustave slept.

Erik sighed and took the other chair at the table. Allowing his mind a flight of fancy he recalled the way the boy had adored his world, the glitz and glamour and trickery of it, a brilliant and willing protégé at last; "I will teach him, he will be a composer, a musician, he will go to the finest conservatoire in-"

Raoul granted himself the luxury of a sad smile, "I meant to raise him, Monsieur Phantom… or is it Mister Y now?" he shrugged, not really caring what the answer was. "True enough he's your son. I always suspected…" he trailed off a moment, recalling all the times that had come before, the way his son had more fascination with music and mechanics than any other child his age. How the dear boy had begged his papa to show him how to build model planes and trains and all manner of things.

He'd never been one hundred per cent sure. Always that tiny grain of suspicion; but dear, kind little Gustave looked so much like his mother, enough for Raoul to push back suspicion behind… ha! Behind a mask of overwhelming love for the boy.

Seeing them that close together though, Gustave and The Phantom, then he could see it. Yes his son looked like Christine plentifully, he had her full cheeks and soft complexion, her brown hair which grew into ringlets when left unchecked, but everything else about the boy was The Phantom, or at least the uncovered side of his face. Same strong bone structure, same slightly silken lips, even the same _damned_ eyes, light brown, easily mistaken for gold in a bad light.

How had he not known? How had Christine ever managed to hide it from both of them until now?

"I always suspected there was something else about him altogether." Raoul clarified, becoming aware that the masked man was eyeing him with impatience. "How do you propose to raise the child?"

Erik paused, and allowed a touch of rage coming to his voice as he replied, "He's my _son_." As if fatherhood were as simple as blood.

"He's mine too." Raoul replied evenly, strengthened by the alcohol and the thought that now Christine was gone, what was there to live for? What would it matter now if this man took it into his head to kill him?

He continued to explain in his alcohol-dulled tones; "Not in blood maybe, but I have been his father for ten years. I haven't always been a good one, but I've not been as bad as some."

Erik scowled; bit couldn't deny the truth in this. The boy was _his_ son, but Raoul had been the boy's father for ten long years. Which one of them was the man this beautiful child had called Papa his whole life?

Erik sat in silence, staring out of the window to the starlit night, the mist rising from the ocean. So much to consider, the boy's future at stake. What would Christine want for her son? For their son?

"I… have a suggestion." He voiced. "…The boy has lost one parent tonight; I won't take another from him without any good reason. There are worse things in this world than two fathers and no mother."

Raoul snorted, standing to move across to the drinks cabinet, "You suggest we raise Gustave together? Put aside our mutual hatred for his sake, for the son she left behind…" He reached for the decanter. "Good lord, how very bohemian, I'll just insist right now that you be the one whom wears pretty frocks and does the cooking."

Erik's hand was on his wrist in seconds, the grip tight enough to threaten breaking the thin bones.

"You dare to make jokes at a time like this! If it is to be that way then I can place aside my wish not to take another parent from him."

Raoul winced and tried to twist his arm free. It didn't move. Just how strong was this apparently frail-looking man?

"I'm merely suggesting the child does not have to lose more family members, not for one moment am I suggesting that you are anything other than the scum of the earth as far as my mind is set." He paused, twisting the younger man's hand from the crystal bottle, "We'll put aside that for the child. That, I believe, is what parenting is, is it not? To put aside one's own desires for the sake of a helpless child?"

Raoul nodded, anything to get the grip from his wrist, his hand was turning pale from blood constriction.

"The drink I just gave you will be the last. In addition; there will be no further gambling, I won't have you waste away Gustave's inheritance. You will, Raoul, be a father to him. You will do this because I am giving you no other choice."

Raoul, winced, but wanting one more shot at this man who had stolen his bride away, and reasonably sure the man would not kill him in the same room as their sleeping son, he replied, "Or you will add my life to the number you have claimed?"

"Or I will knock you out, throw you onto the next boat going anywhere far away and you will never see Gustave or me again. I don't believe you would live long anyway, debtors would come calling eventually." Erik shrugged easily, releasing the man's hand, "I would not have to lift a finger, Raoul. Not one single finger, you've sealed your own fate one way or the other."

Raoul paled, rubbing his bruised wrist and staring, angry and bewildered, at the dark man. "I suppose I have, Monsieur Phantom. You drive an exceptional bargain, I don't wonder at your wealth."

Erik made no comment at the backhanded compliment, if that was what it was supposed to be, merely replied; "It's ridiculous for you to continue calling me by these aliases I am forced to wear. My name is Erik."

"Erik." Raoul repeated, sinking back into his chair at the table. "I had almost believed your name really was Phantom."

Erik shrugged once more, his eyes were fixed on his sleeping son "I have learnt it pays to wear names lightly, to gather and shed titles as need demands."

"Is there a last name to go with Erik?" Raoul persisted, despite the older man's obvious discomfort with this topic. Why shouldn't he know the last name of the man whose son he'd been fathering?

Erik opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the whimper from the sofa. Both men's heads turned as if on magnets to where their son lay, clearly in the midst of some terrible nightmare, he shifted uneasily on the makeshift bed and let out a keening wail; _"Mother!"_

He woke himself with his own cry, sitting bolt upright and staring at the room around him in mixed horror and confusion. The events of the night appeared to wash up over his small, pale face all at once. He did not cry any further though, Erik suspected he'd run out of tears.

"F-f-father…" he stammered. "I had a terrible nightmare!"

Erik turned away, glaring at the table-top and hating the polished surface for reflecting his mask back to him. He'd replaced it, out of habit more than fear or shame when he'd carried Christine here. No wonder the boy was having nightmares, he'd looked on the face of death itself.

Raoul spoke as soothingly as he could, rising from his chair and walking to the boy's side. "Now, now, Gustave, it was just a nightmare, nothing more. Papa is here, see?"

Gustave nodded meekly, "But there was fire and stars falling and so, so much noise…" he whimpered again and then turned his bright gold eyes from Raoul, directly onto Erik as his high, sweet voice wept out, "Father, the whole sky fell and shattered! And there was a forest of silver trees that… they wanted to hurt me and…"

The boy leapt from the sofa and crossed the small space between sofa and dining area in seconds, his small arms flew around Erik's neck and the small, perfect face buried itself in his shoulder.

Had it been any other night, Raoul would have laughed at the Phantom—Erik's expression. Shock, mostly, still unused to anyone touching him willingly. Even more unused to having to comfort a clearly distraught child.

Raoul was not at heart an unkind man; he mouthed the words 'Hug him'.

Erik did just that, it looked unpractised but that much didn't bother Gustave. He sniffled quietly still though. Erik tried lifting the small child onto his knee, the child was nearly weightless. That seemed to stop the crying.

The child drew back slowly, staring up at Erik with those wide, curious and tear-stained eyes. One hand went up and touched the white mask with his whole palm. Erik stopped breathing.

"It feels like a plate." Gustave muttered.

"Porcelain," Erik corrected, his eyes went to Raoul, "Odd thing, noticing the detail like that."

"Wouldn't cloth be better?" Gustave asked, though it didn't seem as if he wanted an answer, more that he was thinking aloud. It was probably preferable to thinking about other things. "Linen, maybe, only you looked so sore. But I suppose that wouldn't offer much protection against the elements, it's so windy here, and the salt in the air too…"

Erik barely smiled; it was charming to see anyone thinking this much of him, caring about his comfort at all. Normally the touch of anyone's hand on his face or mask would have him in a panic or a rage, but his dear little son was just so… innocently curious about the whole thing.

"It does not bother me, Gustave." He paused a moment, then added, "Thank you though, for asking."

"Does it hurt?"

Erik shook his head, "Not very much. It's like…" he paused, trying to think of an analogy the boy would understand. "Have you ever tripped and cut your knee very badly?"

Gustave was silent for a moment, "I fell from my swing once and hurt my hand, didn't I Papa?" he turned slightly to look to Raoul for confirmation. The man nodded.

"Well, when it healed, did you notice the time when the cut healed over and went hard? That's what it feels like."

Gustave looked fascinated. Raoul felt a twinge of jealousy; he'd never managed to make his son look so interested in an idea.

Maybe Erik sensed this jealousy and felt the need to return the kindness of earlier, or perhaps he was just growing unnerved by the attention the child was giving him, but whatever the reason he took the tiny hand and removed it from his mask.

"It's long gone your bedtime, Gustave." He remarked, "Go on, to bed. If you have another nightmare we will not be far away."

The boy nodded, sliding from his father's lap, "Goodnight Father…"

He walked to his bedroom door slowly, hair like an unruly halo around his head, mussed from the nightmare. He hesitated at the door, glancing back into the living room, "Papa, will you come and tuck me in?"

Raoul answered automatically with; "Of course," then stopped with the realisation that Gustave might not have meant him at all. He glanced to the Phantom—Erik (he would have to get used to that) and added, "ah… who did you want, Gustave?"

Gustave appeared surprised at the question, "You, Papa. I just said goodnight to Father."

As Raoul followed the child, Erik sighed to himself, and wondered at how easily the child adapted. He sensed it would be a much harder process for himself, and Raoul, come to that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

A/N: Regarding Fleck, I am aware the politically correct term is 'little person' however at the time the story is set such a term wasn't used, I can't make excuses for the past. Apologies to anyone who is offended. Also in this chapter there might be some slight Raoul/Erik if you turn your head and squint.

All characters belong to their original creators.

It was as lovely as a funeral could hope to be. Serene and sad, a light mist hung over the churchyard and the mourners, flowers perfuming the air, piled up on the coffin. Erik had insisted it be a closed coffin, he couldn't stand the thought that the child would remember seeing his poor, beautiful mother being lowered into the ground. Better that it was closed and all his memories were of her alive.

No other guests. Christine hadn't known people here, back in Paris there would doubtless be a memorial, but that all seemed very far-off to the three people attending this funeral. No Madam Giry, and no Meg. Erik had informed Raoul that the two appeared to have vanished, when she put her mind to it, Madame Giry was as good at hiding as the Phantom himself. They'd probably already fled the country, fearful of revenge.

Gustave seemed to be coping very well. His little face was pink from tears he'd shed earlier in the day but now he was standing stoically between his father and 'papa'. He had a handful of Erik's coat, Raoul wasn't sure if the man was aware of it or not, he had his eyes fixed on the coffin as the priest delivered the eulogy. Beneath the wide brim of his fedora tears were running down skin and porcelain.

"…Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

The coffin was lowered. Raoul stepped forwards and threw the rose he was carrying down into the earth.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered. "I'm going to be a good father for Gustave now, the father I should have been before. I have always loved you, Christine…" his voice caught in his throat and he swallowed hard, he hadn't expected it to be this hard. His last few years of marriage to Christine had left a lot to be desired, but god, she was his wife, his little Lotte, she'd stood with him through the hard times and now he had to say goodbye to her with the knowledge that he'd broken what little there was left of his marriage to break.

He wanted to weep, to sob copiously as his son had done over the past few days, to get all this pent-up sadness out. He'd been being strong, for Gustave, a task made all the harder by Erik removing all alcohol from the hotel room. Just one glass of something would have made this easier, but Erik had made it quite clear that one glass would be one too many.

Raoul backed away from Christine's coffin, pausing only to mop at his eyes with his handkerchief, back to his spot by his son and Erik. His grasping hand found Gustave's and squeezed it.

Erik stepped forwards slightly; about to drop in his own rose, a single red one tied with a black ribbon, of course, then stopped at the tug on his coat and looked down at Gustave's sad, anxious face. He'd been so clingy over the past week, Raoul had never known his son like this, it was if he was afraid if he let of one of them for too long they'd vanish.

The nightmares hadn't stopped either, the poor child hadn't slept properly since that terrible night.

The Phantom knelt and placed a hand on his son's cheek, "Stay with papa, Gustave."

"Father…"

Strange how quickly the child had attached himself to Erik. After the first evening Erik had tried to return to his home within the theatre, leaving Raoul to tend to the child for the night. Gustave had woken from a nightmare and sobbed for his father so hard and so desperately that Raoul had no choice but to ask Erik to spend the night in the hotel.

He wasn't sure if the Phantom slept, or where he was sleeping if he did. All Raoul really knew was that the man was spending his nights in the hotel room. The sofa didn't look slept on and he was certain the man wasn't creeping into the adult bedroom with him, Raoul may have been ex-military and had once shared sleeping quarters with hundreds of men, but he drew the line at The Phantom.

More to that, Raoul found it hard to imagine what the man was _doing_ all day, after the child had breakfasted, without fail, Erik would say goodbye, promise to return, and promptly vanish into the early-morning Coney island mist. Phantasma had been closed for the week, it was necessary, with their director in mourning, the dance mistress missing and their headline act wanted for murder; it wasn't as if he could have been off planning new shows, or making funeral arrangements, he and Raoul had done that together in the evenings after Gustave had gone to his feverish sleep.

Whatever was happening to the Phantom, Gustave had become very attached to his father in very short time. Raoul suspected it was their mutual way of looking at things, seeing everything as beautiful if looked at from the right angle. Erik had started giving the boy proper piano lessons, something that the child was, of course, taking to like a duck to water. He sometimes found himself amused by how out of his depth the Phantom was made by Gustave's affection.

"Papa."

Raoul glanced down, "What is it?" he whispered, keeping one eye on where Erik stood over the coffin, paying his last respects in soft whispers. Raoul noticed tears and felt a rise of unwelcome pity for the man. At least he'd had ten years with her, what had Erik, the man who had loved her far more than him had? A few months as her tutor, weeks as her tormentor, a night as her lover, a handful of snatched kisses and just one short hour of knowing that for those ten years she had loved him too.

"I want to go to Father, can I?" Gustave said quietly.

Raoul wasn't sure if he should allow it, but Gustave wasn't a patient child, another trait from his father. He let go of Raoul's hand and hurried to Erik's side.

"Father."

Erik turned his head heavily and sighed at the sight of the child. Mopping at his face a moment he replied, "I told you to wait."

Gustave nodded, but didn't look admonished. His little arms curled around Erik's torso. "It's all right father. Mama's soul is a star now, we'll be able to see her every night when we find it in the sky."

Erik raised an eyebrow, he'd been expecting the child to pour out Christian sentiments of god and angels. Though he supposed how religious could the child be, with his Papa a drunken layabout and his poor, beautiful mama an Opera singer who was called upon to travel widely for her work, religion had probably been left at the wayside. Besides the boy would only have asked uncomfortable questions of a priest, he was so very precocious.

"Yes," he replied, patting the child's back, "Mama's a star now."

The walk back to the church gates made them look a very odd group. Raoul on the right, suitably attired in his mourning suit and holding the hand of his small son, Gustave in the middle with his tearstained face and oddly stoic expression, and on his left was Erik, holding the child's other hand and looking as out-of-place as he always did, wide-brimmed fedora on his head to hide the mask. All three of them had their heads down, absorbed in misery. They didn't even see the crowd until the noise started.

The trio halted at the cry from the gates. When they looked up from their private mourning they were confronted by the gaggle of photographers, being held back by the iron railings. Christine Daae's death was apparently big news.

They were pushing cameras as close as they could to the railings, notebooks and pencils at the ready as a thousand unwelcome questions poured into the cemetery.

"Hey, vicomte, what killed her? Is there to be a murder investigation?"

"What happened? There's rumours she was shot!"

"Who's that guy with you?"

"Hey Gustave Daae, a word about how you miss your mom?"

Erik scowled; giving Gustave a gentle but firm push behind the two of them he swept his cloak over the child, to hide him from their sight. Then he turned that burning gaze on Raoul, "How the devil did they find out?"

Raoul winced, despite becoming slightly more comfortable in the Phantom's presence that burning look of fury scared him madly. He'd seen it only once before, back in Paris, in the older man's lair. It was the look that made Raoul certain that blood would be spilled.

The vicomte recovered enough to shake his head, "I'm in the dark as much as you, they must have followed the hearse… or paid someone at the hotel off."

Erik growled and glared back at the baying reporters. One or two of the skinnier ones were trying to force themselves through the bars. "We'll never get through that unmolested. I won't have them tormenting Gustave."

Raoul nodded. "…Couldn't you summon that enchanted carriage again? As you did at the docks?"

Erik looked momentarily confused, "Enchanted…? Aren't you too old to believe nonsense?"

Abashed, Raoul snapped, "It moved on its own! No horses or men pulling it!"

Erik rolled his eyes, "It's not magic, it's….I'll explain how it works another time." He lifted his cloak and pushed the child gently to the vicomte. "Gustave, go with Papa back to the Church."

Gustave blinked like a startled faun, "Father... I want to go home now father, please!"

Erik nodded in what he hoped was a sympathetic way. "And you shall, little one, but go with Papa for now." He lowered his voice and brought his gaze back to Raoul.

'_Punjab?'_ Raoul mouthed, the glare in his eyes saying more about what he thought of Erik's penchant for casual violence than the vicomte would ever dare say aloud.

Erik shook his head, mouthing back, '_Cat and mouse.'_

Raoul didn't understand that, but picked up his son and turned quickly, heading back to the silence of the chapel where they had just moments ago laid his wife to rest. They were halfway down the path before Gustave cried out into Raoul's ear, "Father _flew!"_

Raoul spun on his heel, in time to see Erik land on a rooftop across from the cemetery and start racing across the tiles with the speed of a much younger man. The Reporters turned as a pack and took chase, flailing with cameras in hopes of catching a shot of the remarkable acrobat.

"Good lord…" Raoul whispered. "How in the-?"

"He climbed the tree!" Gustave chirped in wonder, "Climbed the tree and jumped and flew!"

Raoul was prepared to believe quite a bit of the Phantom, but not supernatural powers. He'd long ago learnt it was all smoke and mirrors. Still it was good to hear Gustave's voice alive with excitement again, so he patted the child's back and whispered, "Yes, I suppose he must have done."

Raoul was not all that surprised when the magical carriage arrived to take them back to the hotel, much to the delight of Gustave. Those three performers were with it, the ones that unnerved Raoul intensely, in their weird rhyming verse they informed the pair that the master had sent them; that apparently: _The wolves had lost their prey and cat and mouse had won the day._

It was so typical of Erik to send his human prodigies with a verse in hand to boast about his clever tactics. Raoul found it odd how quickly the memories were coming back, and oddly; the comfort they were bringing. God, every experience he'd ever had meeting this imposing man had been terrible at the time, but now…

There was a strange, sad comfort in the way he remembered the three of them, stuck in an endless love triangle, him and Erik doing battle for Christine's heart, and her…

The poor girl, torn between them both, it suddenly occurred to Raoul as they rode back to their temporary home how hard it must have been for Christine. She was such a giving soul, afraid to make choices for herself in case she offended someone else, asking her to choose between the boy who had been a childhood sweetheart, a first kiss, and the man who worshipped her as a goddess…

No wonder it had always been so passionate and violent between the three of them, they'd both loved her to a burning intensity, likewise she had loved them both, but that was never enough for them, was it? Never enough for one of them to concede to the other.

If they'd loved her nearly as much as she deserved, Raoul realised with a shock that was like a stab to his heart, if _he'd_ loved her like she deserved to be loved, he'd have done as Erik did, and stepped aside. He'd been a selfish, spoilt boy, unable to see that _true_ love meant wanting someone to be happy, even at your own expense.

"Papa…?" Gustave whispered. The coach stopped and the small boy hopped out the door, spotting that they were outside the theatre and that his father was waiting, he dashed down the steps and to his side, speaking urgently, "Father, Papa's crying! I don't know what to do!"

Raoul felt the carriage shift with weight, and sensed vaguely that someone was sitting across from him, but he couldn't bring himself to raise his head from his hands, and the tears just _would not_ stop, no matter what he did. He'd spoilt all of this, he'd taken Christine away and tried to break her, to make her into someone else, and when she'd been too strong he'd turned to drink and gambling to try and destroy their life, because he'd known in the pit of his soul that she would have been happier with Erik.

"…It's horrible, when it becomes real, is it not?"

Raoul nodded, lifting his head slightly and trying to clear his face with his already sodden handkerchief. "It's all my fault. If I'd let her go to you…"

Erik said nothing.

"If I'd been able to see how she needed you and your music and all that _damn_ magic… If I'd been able to make her happy… I wanted her to be happy, but only with me, like the selfish fool I am… I didn't deserve-!"

A hand landed on his shoulder, firm but for once, gentle. Raoul looked up into golden eyes that for once, looked sympathetic, not cruel or calculating.

"We're the same stupid, selfish man." Erik muttered. "Neither one deserved Christine, let's leave it there. Gustave needs us to be strong for him now, you can do your weeping and wailing later." He moved as if to leave the coach. Glancing back at Raoul, he sighed and offered his own handkerchief from his pocket, "Dry your face, it's a terrible thing for a child to see his parents cry."

Raoul did so and climbed out from the carriage, the shock of cold salt air on his heated skin did a lot to clear his mind. Gustave was standing at the theatre doors, admiring the posters, the dwarf woman at his side.

A thought occurred to Raoul and he questioned suddenly, "Gustave said you flew at the graveyard."

Erik scoffed, "Hardly. Some of my people are acrobats, I made a study of their art."

This didn't quite satisfy Raoul, as they walked towards the small boy. "But at your age…"

This earned him another derisive scoff from the Phantom. "Less about my age, boy, spend a lifetime behind stages of one sort or another and you'll find muscles will appear even on your refined frame."

"I always thought you more of an artist than a labourer." Raoul muttered lowly, but evidently not lowly enough for the man beside him not to hear.

He turned a burning gaze on the man, the eye behind the mask seemed to glow in its dark recess. "I'll thank you not to keep passing comment about my strength, boy. I might be tempted to use it."

Raoul returned the scowl, wanting to point out he was merely passing curious comment over the man's apparent ability to defy age and time, to snap that had _Gustave_ been the one questioning him, he probably would have been happy to divulge all manner of the secrets to his tricks.

"Papa! Father!"

The two men turned back to Gustave, only a few steps from him and the entrance to Phantasma. The child's earnest face did much to cool their tempers.

"Let's not argue." The child whined softly, despite him not being involved in the argument at all, the sensitive boy had felt the charge in the air and disliked it, "Let's go in, let's pretend it's all ok and maybe it will be… Father's people can show us a trick or two, can't they?"

Erik and Raoul exchanged glances, if both were honest the last thing they wanted was to go into that hall, to watch the acrobats perform and pretend they had not just buried the woman they loved. But Gustave, poor Gustave, overwrought with tension over the past few days, he just needed something to smile about, something to capture his interest and take his mind from his mother for a while.

"Why not?" Erik replied, nodding to the trio of performers who waited anxiously for his word, "Perhaps it will do some good to think of something else." He slid an arm around his son's small frame and lead him, and Raoul, into the theatre.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

A/N: Again, a little Erik/Raoul if you look really hard, though I'm not sure I'm going to go with it as a pairing. 'Baby Mine' is owned by Disney, however if you want to see what inspired this chapter, Michael Crawford has sung a version which can be found on Youtube. All characters belong to their original owners.

Raoul wasn't sure what time it was. It was dark outside his window so either very late or very early. Either way, it was surely still time to be sleeping. He grunted slightly and tried to turn over and fall back asleep.

But that soft sound was still going, the one that had woken him, he supposed. He sighed and sat up, shaking his hair from his face and attempting to work out what the sound _was_.

Only for his face to flush with shame as he realised it was crying. Gustave had doubtless had another nightmare and woken in tears. The Vicomte swung his legs out of the bed, ready to go and comfort the child, only to hear movement outside the door. He moved a little closer and listened.

"Hush now, you'll wake your Papa."

Erik. How oddly kind of him to be concerned about 'papa's beauty sleep, Raoul thought with a slightly sarcastic tone. He peered through the small gap in the door at the pair.

He wasn't sure why he didn't just walk out of the room and announce his presence, maybe he just wanted to observe the Phantom's often-awkward interactions with the boy.

There was Gustave, looking more like an angel than ever in his long white nightshirt, sniffling and rubbing one eye still, and there was the Phan—_Erik_, leading the child to lie down on the sofa. Raoul spotted the pillow and blanket already resting there. So, that was where Erik had been sleeping, presumably hiding the bedclothes every morning before Raoul awoke; probably trying to save face.

The boy's mouth moved, but his words were too quiet for Raoul to discern.

"I know, I know. It will get easier to sleep, I promise."

How different the man's voice was when he spoke to the child, Raoul had noticed it before, it was softer, warmer, more human. Raoul wondered if that was how the man had always spoken to Christine? If so he could see how she saw him far differently to the rest of the world. Hearing him speak like that; even Raoul believed there was no monster, only a lonely man behind that mask.

"She used to sing to you, did she? Did that make the nightmares stop?"

Gustave's little head bobbed slightly as he was tucked up on the sofa. Raoul felt a surge of love for the boy, it was so easy to forget he was already ten years old, he looked so small and helpless. Certainly since the death of his mother those few weeks ago he'd begun acting like a child much younger than ten, though Raoul and Erik were loath to chastise him for that. They were all still mourning after all.

The little mouth moved again, Erik looked slightly surprised and embarrassed. "I… don't know…"

A pair of golden brown eyes narrowed in anxious sadness, a threat of more tears hovered in the air.

"All right then…" Erik conceded, sitting on the floor by the child's head and stroking a hand through his chestnut hair. "But you're not to laugh, and you're to go straight to sleep."

Raoul wished the boy had smiled like that for him, just once. He had dimples in his cheeks, like his mother, Raoul noted.

The Phantom cleared his throat, and began to sing in a soft and low tenor, gentle as a breeze.

"_Baby mine, don't you cry._

_Baby mine, dry your eyes._

_Rest your head close to my heart, _

_Never to part, _

_Baby of mine."_

Raoul stared, speechless. Part of him, the part that still hated Erik with a passion and cried out for him to just leave Raoul and his son alone wanted him to remember this, in order to make some snide comment later. Some joke at the expense of the man who had clearly never sung a lullaby in his life and had never expected to.

Gustave's eyes were clouding over slightly, fixed on his father's mask.

"_Little one when you play, _

_Don't you mind what they say._

_Let those eyes sparkle and shine," _The hand still stroking Gustave's hair from his face drifted lower to close his little eyelids. The boy smiled sleepily.

"_Never a tear, _

_Baby of mine."_

The other half of Raoul, the half that was starting to come around to sharing the child, if only so he could see Christine in the boy's face every day. If only so he could feel somehow closer to the woman he'd lost through foolishness… that half wanted to keep listening, not to interrupt this perfect, charming moment. Wanted so, _so_ badly to join them, not to allow himself to drift away from Gustave.

"_If they knew sweet little you, _

_They'd end up loving you too._

_All those same people who scold you_

_What they'd give just for the right to hold you."_

Raoul bit his lip, conflicted between comments that this was really too indulgent of the child, he was too old for lullabies, too old to be babied like this, and yet… the poor child had lost his mother, the one who'd been his only source of comfort for so long. Raoul was pained to admit to how he'd dismissed the child, selfish and foolish.

And aside from that, Erik had missed so much of his son's life, would it hurt to allow him to spoil the boy, just for one night? Just because they both needed it so very badly.

Gustave's eyelids were slipping closed, his breathing relaxed as he began to nod.

"_From your head down to your toes, _

_You're not much, goodness knows._

_But you're so precious to me, _

_Sweet as can be, _

_Baby of mine."_

The last lyric was little more than a whisper, the child was sleeping and Erik had no intention of waking him just to hear another note of a silly little children's song he'd thought up as he went. Foolish, embarrassing really, but he hadn't been able to say no to those darling golden eyes.

"That was lovely."

His head jerked up. Excellent, so the Vicomte had heard as well, for there he was, standing in the doorway of his bedroom in his dressing gown and looking untidier than ever. Erik waited for the jab at his expense, the teasing comment that Raoul still wasn't always able to stop himself from making. Erik was finding this sharing of the child to be most trying, every day he wrote new boleros down in his lair to try and calm the rage he longed to take out on Raoul.

He held it all back for Gustave's sake.

"Erik, I'm being serious, that was… really very sweet." Raoul blushed, unsure of how to compliment the little tune without sounding as if he was being sarcastic. God, how hard was it to even hold a simple conversation with this man.

Erik shrugged, "It appears to have worked rather well for a spur-of-the-moment composition." He gestured to where his son slept soundly, for once.

Raoul fidgeted with the tie of his gown, for something to do other than meet the Phantom's eye. "…Where are you going to sleep now… now Gustave appears to have turned you off the sofa?"

Erik shrugged, "I need very little sleep. Good thing too, since the child seems determined I am not to leave him in the night. I feel an idiot when I think of how he can manipulate me from my home so easily."

Raoul laughed softly, for the first time since Christine… since the unpleasant night. "Seems you've got as much natural talent for fatherhood as music."

"I just hate to see him cry." Erik replied neutrally, he wasn't altogether sure if he liked the Vicomte complimenting him or his music. Had it been Christine, of course, it would be a different tale. "You ought to be asleep as well, come to that. Doubtless he will want you to keep him entertained tomorrow."

Raoul shook his head, "I'm not all that tired." There was a pregnant pause, and then the Vicomte asked what he'd been pondering these past few days, but had been too intimidated to voice. "Erik, what is going to happen now? Are we to stay here forever? If so I need to know, there are matters in Paris that must be sorted, and Gustave will need schooling, and we can't stay in this hotel forever."

The Phantom moved slowly across to the piano in the room, sitting at the covered keyboard. Raoul wondered if he just felt happier behind an instrument and more at ease.

"Schooling will not be an issue, I intend on doing that myself, once he's settled, of course."

Raoul blinked, about to argue that point, but decided against it. He couldn't deny Erik was one of the most talented people he knew, and certainly the few times Christine had dared speak of the man to him she had raved about his intelligence. As if to make up for his face the man had filled his brain with all the information known to man. Besides, he could think of any number of tutors who had thrown up their hands in disbelief of the child's intelligence, perhaps in Erik the boy would find someone capable of actually teaching him something.

"And our living arrangements?" Raoul pressed.

Erik appeared to be staring into the middle distance, lost to the world for a moment, then replied; "I had not considered that far yet. I suggest discussing it with Gustave himself, when he's awake." The Phantom let out a low sigh, "Paris or New York, London even, if I can play and see him then the location makes little difference." His eyes narrowed slightly, "Wherever we go I shall be trapped among shadows."

Raoul bit his lip, "…I suppose… but here…"

Erik let out another of those disdainful laughs, "Ah here! Here I'm the king of the freaks, as I believe you referred to my employees? Hm? The man who runs their shows who hides behind a mask because even they fear what lies beneath?"

Raoul twitched uncomfortably, just how much did this man hear when he didn't appear to be around? "I… apologise for that."

"No matter…"

Raoul frowned, "Clearly it does matter, or you would not have mentioned it."

For a moment the two men eyed one another; then Erik nodded to the sleeping child, a subtle hint for this conversation to end, and now.

Raoul nodded. "All right. For now we'll stay here."

"I'll see about arranging something more permanent, more… comfortable." Erik replied, glancing around at the admittedly small hotel suite, "With three bedrooms, preferably." He added.

Raoul allowed a sliver of a smile to creep into his voice, "If you're that bothered, you could-" he stopped himself before the sentence ended as '_take my bed'_

Not that he meant anything by it. Simply that he did rather pity the Phantom for giving up his already makeshift bed to the small child.

Simply that t he man was obviously _lonely_ and in need of comfort too, as much as Gustave maybe. Except he didn't have anyone to be kind to him, he never had.

Raoul pushed that thought back and finished, "You could swap with me, I'll sit up for a while, I'll never get back to sleep now anyway."

The Phantom stared at him for a moment or two. Raoul _hated _that mask. It made it so hard to tell what the man was thinking. Finally Erik replied carefully, "No, one more sleepless night won't kill me. Go and get some rest." He paused and added with a touch more kindness, "You look exhausted."

Blushing furiously and uncertain as to why, Raoul returned to his room, leaning on the door after he had closed it and willing himself to stop behaving so stupidly. He'd only _almost_ made the offer out of pity, after all, that was still the man who'd tried to take his life out there, and he was only being civil for Gustave's sake. He'd only been polite because of the gentle way the Phantom had sung to his little son.

He had sung _beautifully_ though, hadn't he? Raoul wondered at it, no wonder Christine had always been so enchanted by his voice.

Outside, slightly amused at the forced kindness despite himself, the Phantom began to drum his fingers lightly on the cover over the piano's keys.


End file.
